Call him 'Fate'
by PrincessPurity
Summary: Two men come to Santa Helena following the trail of 'Fate' -a vigilante who murders seemingly innocent people- but all Montoya sees is the makings of a new revolution, and down with the queen. *On Hiatus*
1. The Strangers

Call him `Fate`

The sun had risen too early that morning for Colonel Montoya's taste. Already he had begun his least favorite pastime - sorting paperwork. Messages, mail, memos - Montoya hated them all. If they were peasants he would have had them hanged. As it was he would have to settle for murdering the next man he laid eyes on…

The door opened.

"Ah, Captain Grisham," he said, coldly. "I should have known." He took a leisurely time sorting his papers and putting them away. Let the dog learn his place: that no matter how well trained, he was still a dog.

He finished up and looked at his companion of slightly below average intelligence, and sighed. "What do you want?"

"There's some men here," said the young American. "They want to see you… "

"Send them away," said the colonel, firmly.

"Colonel?"

"I said send them away. I am in no mood to deal with the unwashed masses of Santa Helena. Go now, I am tired, and it is not yet nine o'clock."

"Err, you know I hater to bother you when you're on you period but, uh, these guys you're gonna want to see."

The Colonel's head came up slowly. "Greatly though I value your opinion captain, cherishing it above even my own, may I suggest that you explain yourself very quickly, or expect sudden, painful retribution."

Grisham swallowed, but his grin remained unscathed. "Oh, it's nothing, it's nothing. If you don't want to see them, Colonel, it's your loss. See, it's about the Queen." He turned and started through the door.

'_That arrogant bastard,_' thought Montoya, hatred frothing in his gut '_Still, if it could be useful…_'

"Very well, Grisham – but do not expect me to suffer your stupidity again."

The captain gave a cocky nod, and slipped through the door. As Montoya rubbed his temples wondering what to do with the man, he listened to the voices outside the room.

"The Colonel will see you now."

"Thank God."

""Thank you." It was an upright, noble voice. It grated on Montoya's nerves.

" Right this way," said Grisham. The door opened.

Grisham entered followed by two men. One was a friar, short and old, with twinkling eyes, and a big smile, who was missing most of his teeth and much of his hair. The other towered over him, in a variety of ways. His hair was dark and pulled back off his face. Beneath dark, sculpted brows, his eyes were dark blue, almost black. His skin was tanned to a golden shade, though he had clearly once been pale as paper. His jaw was set, and broad, and though his lips were full they were set in a tight line. His clothes were as crisp and clean as his demeanor, and when he spoke his voice was as strong as his face.

"Colonel Montoya?" he inquired.

"I have that honor. What do you wish?" '_This should be interesting – what could an over-decorated cream cake want with Louis Montoya?_'

"My name is Alberto Fernandez, and this is brother Pedro. We are here talk to you about the Queen of swords."


	2. Their Story

_I got a review! I got a review! Yay. _

"Here to talk to me about the Queen of Swords? Tut, tut, gentlemen. I am moved by your eagerness I'm sure – but I have not seen you in these parts before. What could you possibly know about the Queen of Swords?" He watched to gauge their reactions. Sometimes the best way to understand a man was to make him angry.

"Nothing compared to you, Colonel, I am sure," said Alberto.

"Ha!" said the little man beside him. "Bull's piss. We know plenty about her." Montoya saw Captain Grisham try to shoo away a small smile from the corner of his mouth.

"But," interrupted Fernandez, "I have heard stories, rumors… enough to believe that we have a common enemy."

"Please continue," said the Colonel, coolly, interested despite himself.

"There is a man – or perhaps even a woman – who I have been trailing after for five years. He calls himself 'Fate'. He sounds much like the person you describe: elusive, merciless, all but invisible, flaunting a certain disrespect for authority."

"Uncatchable," nodded Montoya. "That _is_ our Queen."

"Bah!" said brother Pedro. "You think your Queen is difficult? No one has even seen our vigilante." Captain Grisham seemed to be having trouble breathing.

"This person" said Alberto, quickly, "Pedro and I have been hunting for the past half decade. We have found only a long trail of victims, lying poisoned to death, or into a coma. If Father Pedro were not a healer even more would be dead. We have seen too many die, and had too many opportunities slip through our fingers. We have come to ask you for your help, as well as to offer you ours."

"Wait, wait, wait," interrupted the Captain, earning him an irritable glare from Montoya. "If no one's ever seen 'im – how do you know what he calls himself? How do you know it's poison, and not just some kind of sickness?"

"He leaves a note," the man explained, coolly. "A message with each victim. He believes that it is right and good that the people he kill die, and that we are silly school children who try to stop him."

Montoya's blood ran cold as he recalled the card left by the queen of swords. The woman was a menace to him, and, of course, to the public.

"Why do you search so hard?" he said, finally. "What reason do you have t0 chase this particular monster, when you do not even know under which bed he is hiding?"

"I cannot stand by, and let good people suffer and die – not for any reason, or at any time. It would be unlawful and wrong." His tone made it clear that these were the greatest of insults in his mind.

"And your friend?" He gestured to father Pedro.

"I'll go and wait outside," said the friar, and disappeared out the door.

After the door closed Alberto spoke. "'Fate' killed Pedro's wife. Before he joined the church, the father was a happily married man. Then sickness broke out, and Fate stole the medicine from the people. He then poisoned Pedro's wife, and fled like the coward he is." His tone was cold, his dark brows furrowed.

"And you, signore, you wish to prove that a man who's father was a Spaniard, while their mother was English can still destroy a Spanish vigilante?"

Fernandez grew suddenly cold. "No, Colonel. You are mistaken. I wish only to bring him to justice."

"Ah," said Montoya. "My mistake. How silly I am. Very well. We shall continue this conversation after you and the good father have settled into a hotel." He stood and gestured to the door. "You are excused."

Fernandez looked at him, coldly. "You are a most gracious host, Colonel. Thank you for your overwhelming hospitality. I am sure our future partnership will be a happy one." He nodded curtly, turned on his heel and walked out the door.

Grisham watched as they left, shaking his head. "They should know better than to cross wits with you. That's what we call verbal slaughter."

"I am sure," said Montoya, hiding a smile, "that I don't know what you mean."


	3. Nicademo

Tessa stood in the kitchen watching Marta bake. Marta carefully continued, her hands sure, her eyes on her work. Finally she set down the dough she had been working on.

"Is there nothing you would rather be doing?" she pushed her hair out of her eyes, smearing corn flour across her forehead.

Tessa leaned on the counter, peering over Marta's shoulder. "Not really – is that too much flour?"

"No. The flour is fine. Is there a reason you are bothering me so?" She turned her age-old eyes on Tessa, calmly.

"To irritate you," Tessa shrugged. "Is there going to be sugar in this?"

"Not anymore," said Marta, firmly. "Why don't you go into town?"

"Well I'm going to," said Tessa, impatiently, "as soon as you're done baking. Are you almost done?"

"To see the doctor," Marta nodded. "I see."

"You don't see," Tessa countered, hastily. "What's there to see? There's nothing… to see…" She sighed.

"He doesn't care for Tessa Alvarado," said Marta, patiently. "He cares for _her_: the Queen of Swords." She went back to kneading dough. "You know, he has been spending a great deal of time with Mariah Delgado."

"Mariah Delgado? Alejandro's daughter? She's been sick a lot."

"She looked as healthy as a horse to me." Marta's eyes never left her work.

"Well then, she's a flirtatious little minx. Doctor Helm would never fall for…"

"You are thinking about Camilla?" Marta guessed. "His former fiancée-"

"Who he left for me," interrupted Tessa.

"For the Queen." Marta's voice was quiet but steady. "You have seen how happy he looks when a beautiful woman smiles at him. I am not saying he does not love the Queen-"

"No," said Tessa. "You are saying he _should_ not love the Queen."

"I am not saying that either." Marta sighed.

There was a pause then: "well, perhaps you should." She looked down. "Maybe he would be happier without her."

"I do not know that that is true," said Marta, kindly, stroking Tessa's face with her flour-covered hands. "I am just saying that perhaps you should give love a second chance as well. It is spring - the time of rebirth. If you could just bring yourself to look around at a few of the gentlemen-"

"And which of these gentlemen has ever held my interest? And if you say Grisham I'll kill you." Tessa sighed, hard.

"There," said Marta. "Almost done. Then we can go to town."

"Don't bother," sighed Tessa, unhappily. "I've no interest in going to town today. Or tomorrow for that matter." She rubbed her side where the Queen had received a bad bruise. "Just don't bother."

"Tessa," Marta began. But just then there came a loud knock on the back door.

Tessa turned her eyes on her loyal servant. "Marta?" she raised an eyebrow.

Marta nodded. "I'll see to it."

She disappeared around the corner, and headed for the back door. A few moments later she returned, bringing a man with her.

"Senorita, this young man wants food. What should I do?" Marta's face was calm and unreadable. Tessa's was not. She gaped.

The young man in question was about six feet tall, with dark brown hair, almost black, that clung to his head in polished ringlets, and deep, deep brown eyes, that despite their slanted twist, were full and shining. His coffee-colored lips were curved in a small, mischievous smile, and his strong, stubble-covered jaw was smudge with dirt. Truthfully, most of him was smudged with dirt. From his peasant clothes to his bare feet, he was coated in dust, which did nothing to diminish his innate beauty.

Something about his face made a part of her believe she could trust him with her deepest secrets – with her life, and a part of her believe she couldn't trust him with a hair ribbon. Tessa hurried to pull herself together.

"Yes, of course Marta, get him some food and drink. Do you have any of those delicious cookies left?"

"I'll see what I can do," said Marta, making her way to the pantry.

"Thank you, senorita..." He raised his eyebrows daring her to tall him her name.

"Alvarado," Tessa answered with an incline of her head. "Tessa Alvarado."

"Ahh…" he nodded, as though tasting the name – memorizing it. "I am Nicademo. Do you live here all by yourself?" He looked taken aback at the idea.

"Along with Marta, the servants, and the farm hands – yes." Tessa tried to keep a cool demeanor about her. She could wear more than one kind of mask.

"You don't have to pretend around me," encouraged the young man. "I am safe." He gave her a… smile. It was hard to put a finger on why it was so comforting, and warm – perhaps because it was so unguarded, and kind – but Tessa suddenly felt so relieved at the feeling of being able to be herself, that for a moment she forgot that it was only a stranger's word that had released her.

She tried to pull together the scraps of her mask as well as her dignity. "I never would have thought you were not, senor - but what of you? Where are you from?"

He looked down, as though he didn't really want to answer the question, then looked slowly back up. "A long way from here. You?"

"The same." She drew herself up and smiled, and he did the same. They exchanged the next few words while each was trying to stand taller than the other.

"Let me guess," said Tessa lifting her heels off the ground, "You are the father of…?"

"No one you have heard of," said Nicademo, doing the same. "He is dead." His eyes held the same dull, grey pain that Tessa knew so well.

"Then we are alike." Tessa went up onto her toes. "And my mother is gone as well."

"And so is mine," Nicademo rose onto the balls of his feet. "Though I do not remember her. I am told she was a good woman."

"As am I." Tessa looked around for a moment, then grabbed a chair, climbing on top of it. "on a cheerier note, I love blackberries, apples, and Marta's home cooking."

Nicademo glanced around the room, and grabbed another chair, scrambling atop it like a splendid monkey. "I have never tried blackberries, but I love apples, and I am about to sample Marta's cooking for myself. I am sure it is exquisite. I love fighting, and running, and dancing, though I am terrible at it."

"I'm sure I've never had to fight or run far, but I" Tessa looked around irritably, then seized on the table, climbing on top of it, and bending down so her head wouldn't hit the ceiling, "adore dancing, and am quite good at it."

"Are you sure about that," he asked mischievously, joining her on the table. He had to bend over almost double to avoid the ceiling. "Perhaps the people who watch you dance just say that because you are so beautiful." He was grinning, and his eyes were twinkling softly.

Somehow, Tessa was unsure what to say. She had been complimented all her life, but this - this impish peasant, who actually seemed to mean the things he said? This was new.

He leaned slightly closer to her... Then slightly closer…

Marta entered, carrying a bundle of food in her arms, and two things happened at once. Firstly, Tessa Alvarado pulled away, and fell off the table. Secondly, Nicademo threw himself from the table, wrapping his arms around Tessa and pulling her on top of him.

There was a thud as the two hit the floor, and Marta looked up. "Tessa!" she dropped the food she was carrying and ran to her mistress' side.

Tessa pulled back to look at the peasant man beneath her, then climbed off of him, quickly "Are you alright? Your head-"

"I have never felt better," he said with a smile. "Tessa Alvarado," he climbed to his feet, "I have decided that you are going to fall in love with me." He gave her a sweet, cocky grin.

"I," said Tessa, still trying to see the back of his head, "think that's up to fate."

"He grinned at her before darting out the door. "Then call me 'Fate'."


End file.
